


the monster you made

by charizona



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Degradation, F/F, Masturbation, Succession AU, Um., roman/gerri AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charizona/pseuds/charizona
Summary: Villanelle's done trying. She'd rather just find some coke and fuck someone, but she's stuck here, in this stupid mansion with nothing to do except... annoy Eve.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 127





	the monster you made

**Author's Note:**

> this is blatantly ripped off from the TV show Succession -- roman/gerri in that show present an... interesting dynamic that can be applied to villaneve, if you squint.
> 
> TWO fics in ONE DAY?? who knew.
> 
> the one where villanelle is an insanely ridiculous heiress to a family company and eve is the general counsel to said company.

Villanelle is… tipsy. 

She would say that she’s not thinking straight, but she’s actually thinking incredibly straight. She’s narrow-minded, as she walks through the halls of the large mansion, taking the route she’d memorized the minute they arrived to deal with this corporate… whatever. She doesn’t care. She’s tired of Konstantin saying this, saying that, saying _whatever_. She’s tired of Carolyn’s disapproving looks, her becoming the butt of everyone’s jokes. She gets it, _okay_? She’s not the favorite. 

She’s done _trying_. She’d rather just find some coke and fuck someone, but she’s stuck here, in this stupid mansion with _nothing_ to do except… annoy Eve.

She leans against the doorframe, knocks with two knuckles. Keeps knocking, until Eve answers it wearing… _Jesus_ , she’s wearing something like fucking silk pajamas, probably the best dressed Villanelle has ever _seen_ her. 

“Hi,” Villanelle says, at the same time Eve says, “Jesus.” Villanelle smiles, biting her lip. “Any chance you want to talk to me about my entire future being sidestepped for my younger sister who is barely out of college?”

“Come in or fuck off,” Eve says, opening the door a bit wider. Villanelle would like to do both, but settles for stepping across the threshold, burying herself in Eve’s room. “You know,” Eve says, irritated, “I’m not going to drop everything for you at every minute of every day. This isn’t how this works.”

“Did you know?” Villanelle asks, twirling in the middle of the room to face her. “About Irina?”

“No,” Eve says, but she’s lying. She glances at Villanelle with a tinge of guilt — it makes Villanelle almost sick. “I didn’t,” Eve tries again. “Not really. No one did until she actually _said_ it.” Eve stands in the middle of the room, uncomfortable. “Sorry,” she adds, like it matters. 

“Thank you,” Villanelle says, not meaning it. She flops into a chair at the edge of Eve’s room. “I appreciate that. I appreciate _you_ , Eve, for continually supporting me and…” Villanelle waves her hands around. “I don’t know. What do people say when their entire future gets set on fire?”

“Well, I—” Eve stops, like she’s _thinking_. That’s what Eve does, all the time. She thinks before she speaks, unlike Villanelle, who is naughty all of the time. Says what she feels, takes what she wants. Isn’t _good enough_. “I’ve heard good things from the LA office, about your work. You could go back…”

“Yes!” Villanelle vaults out of the chair, tipping wildly to one side. “You’re right! LA will solve _all_ of my problems. It is not like I’ll return a complete fucking failure. Maybe one day, I can even make a _movie_. Wow, the entertainment industry. Thank you, Eve.”

“All right,” Eve says, rolling her eyes. “Do you want a drink, or did you just want me to stroke your ego?”

“Stroke something,” Villanelle mutters. “Hey, what do you say we… hop on the phone? Have one of those _calls_. Right now?” Her voice is pitifully hopeful. 

“Excuse me?” A hard edge to Eve’s voice now. “So you _didn’t_ come here to talk strategy, to get your life together and stop being a pathetic fucking heiress. Jesus.” Eve runs a hand through her hair, her _curls_ , and Villanelle wants it to be her hand, despite the absolute fucking pity party she’s throwing for herself right now. 

“No,” Villanelle counters. “But maybe. If you wanted to. Do you?”

“Jesus Christ,” Eve says, but instead of looking exasperated, instead of looking _done_ , she takes a step toward Villanelle, lowering her voice. “Villanelle, this is completely inappropriate.”

“Yeah?”

“What would your family say if they knew you were here,” Eve continues, about a foot away from Villanelle. She can smell Eve from here, the distant scent of her body wash from an earlier shower. The shampoo, too. Eve stares at her, and Villanelle’s eyes shift to the ground, submissive.

“My family?” Villanelle scoffs. “I don’t care.” 

“But you _do_ care,” Eve fires back. “That’s why you’re here. And they would be ashamed of you, coming to my room like this.” The muscle at the corner of Eve’s jaw twitches in anger, and Villanelle wants to drown in her, drown in Eve. Eve adds, “And rightly so.”

“Okay,” Villanelle laments. “Sorry. I guess I’ll—”

“No, you don’t get to speak,” Eve interrupts. Villanelle straightens, lifting her chin, as Eve steps even closer, a finger pointed at Villanelle’s chest rising between them. “You have always been a disappointment, but this… This is beyond.”

Villanelle lets out a breath. She’s _doing it_ , Eve’s playing the game. Villanelle’s mouth is dry, heat between her legs building. She could come right now, clenching her thighs together, if Eve just kept talking. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eve says immediately. “You know what you are?”

“What am I?”

“You’re fucked up. You’re a sick, fucking animal.”

“Yeah?” Villanelle whispers, breathing hard. 

Eve snaps, “Don’t look at me,” and Villanelle looks at the floor, heat burning in her cheeks. There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation, and Villanelle’s heart races with the possibility that Eve might do this, might grab her and force her to her knees, bury her hands in Villanelle’s hair and press Villanelle’s face to her cunt. “Get in that bathroom,” Eve commands, and Villanelle’s head whips to the side, taking in the slightly open door. This isn’t part of it… what is this? “Go on,” Eve says, spurring Villanelle into motion. 

Villanelle walks into the bathroom, turning just as Eve grabs the doorknob. “And you will stay in there,” Eve says, raking her eyes over Villanelle’s body, “until you have done something with yourself.”

She closes the door, leaving Villanelle in darkness. She can hear her own breathing, amplified by the acoustics of the tile. She leans her forehead against the door, an ache burning through her. She wants to rip Eve’s stupid pajamas, wants to fuck Eve raw until she can barely walk. She holds in a groan, leaning her shoulder against the door. 

That’s when she hears Eve, just on the other side of it. “You have a problem, Oksana,” Eve says, using Villanelle’s _given_ name. From anyone else, Villanelle would strangle them until they agreed to never say it again. But now, standing on either side of this stupid door, Villanelle never wants Eve to say anything _but_ her name. 

“You’re fucked up in the head,” Eve continues, and that does it. Villanelle reaches for her own slacks, unbuttoning them and shoving a hand between her legs, biting her lip at her own wetness. “This is why,” Eve says, voice muffled by the door, “you’ll never be anything but a disgrace. A rotten little nothing.”

Villanelle spreads her legs, shoves two fingers inside of herself and curls. “Jesus Christ,” she hears Eve mutter, as she presses into herself, thrusting hard and quick. “You are a classic fuck up, Oksana.”

“Yes,” Villanelle whispers, shaking. She picks up speed, overstimulates, desperate for too much, not enough, _all of it_. 

Eve doesn’t hear her. “What are we going to do about you?” Villanelle presses her hips forward, grinding against her own hand and the bathroom door, gripping the frame with her other one. “What if they could see you now?” Villanelle closes her eyes, tight, imagines them standing in the middle of the boardroom with her entire family looking on in disapproval. But Eve, standing there and steadfast with her own twisted grin of rejection. “Oh my god,” Eve says, as Villanelle presses hard with her thumb and comes, face pressed against the door. 

The sounds she makes are embarrassing. A whine, a low keen coming from the depths of her throat, and she hears Eve shuffle on the other side of the door, wonders if this is getting her hot, too, like it has ruined Villanelle. 

And the next day, when they’re back with the rest of the family and Villanelle is with _Nadia_ , her latest fling, Villanelle tells them breezily, “You know, I masturbated in Eve’s bathroom last night,” and everyone rolls their eyes because it’s so _Villanelle_. Except Eve’s cheeks go slightly red as she grabs a glass of orange juice. 

Hugo says, “Wow, how romantic of you.”

Villanelle grins. “It was her idea. Older women just _love me_.”

Eve’s voice, a lighthouse during a storm, says, “Even as a joke, that’s fucking gross.”

And maybe it is. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> written for a very select audience. if u don't like it... please do not send me hate. if you DO like it... please give me your love :)


End file.
